


Opportunity

by nonelvis



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-28
Updated: 2009-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-05 10:23:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonelvis/pseuds/nonelvis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Reinette is accustomed to seizing opportunity, and the Doctor is opportunity waiting to be grasped.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Opportunity

**Author's Note:**

> In order to get to the 100-word Ten/Reinette drabble in "Thirteen Steps," I had to whittle down about 500 words of Ten/Reinette smut that really did beg to be continued. And when some people on my friendslist insisted on Ten/Reinette ... well, I had my excuse. (Warning: mild dom/sub theme, so if that's not your kink, move on to something else.)

Reinette is accustomed to seizing opportunity, and the Doctor is opportunity waiting to be grasped.

His protests about dancing with her sound like the feeble efforts of a man who's merely afraid to ask for what he wants, and Reinette brushes them aside, instead leading him into her study and locking the doors. When she turns to face him, he's already pacing around the room, anxiously picking up objects and putting them back down, rifling through her books and starting a stream of chatter about the evolution of modern bindings. He doesn't stop talking until she takes his hand to calm him, and even then she finds she's soothing a skittish thoroughbred, using light touches and soft noises until there's nothing but quiet.

She draws him down for a kiss. This, at least, the Doctor seems able to handle, and quite well, too, now that Reinette has reminded him about how it works, but when she starts unbuttoning his shirt, he pulls away from her, uncertainty writ across his face. Reinette has seen that look on other men, that paralysis of desire and fear that can only be broken if they're absolved of responsibility. It is a little disappointing to discover that despite the Doctor's fairytale trappings, his knowledge of secret doors and his ability to step through her mind as if taking an afternoon stroll, in this way, he is not so different from an ordinary man.

Fortunately, Reinette has played this game before, learning to act either role and experiencing each one's unique pleasures.

"Down," she says to him, firm and commanding. "On your knees."

His eyes widen and he looks worried, as if he can't quite believe what she's said to him. Reinette lifts a hand to the top of his head, pressing him toward the floor. "I said _down._"

This time he complies, swallowing nervously, but Reinette can see he's growing hard already.

"Lift my skirts and lick me." She leans back against a wall and fluffs the front of her silk gown towards him for emphasis. In that first tense moment before she knows he's fully hers, he looks so beautiful, so vulnerable kneeling at her feet, and the tension only serves to increase the warm wetness between her legs.

At last he moves, nearly disappearing beneath the folds and crinkles of the dress, but he finds Reinette's centre easily enough, touching the tip of his tongue to her clit lightly, teasing, then stroking back and forth, taking his time. For a man who'd seemed startled by her kiss four years previous, and unsettled by her forwardness tonight, he is unexpectedly good at this, and soon Reinette is biting her hand, trying not to squeal too loudly as he licks her steadily, eagerly, focused only on her instructions.

Reinette closes her eyes, caresses his head through the silk, and moans as his tongue dips inside her, then re-emerges to spiral lazily around her clit. So many evenings spent watching the flames flicker, hoping she'd see his face just beyond, and still every dream she'd had can't compare to the reality of his presence.

Soon she's so close it's impossible to do anything other than rub herself against his tongue and lips, soft and velvety, making her gasp with every motion. Her nerves are tingling now, tiny needles of pleasure so sharp they're almost painful. Reinette starts to shudder, and begins sliding down the wall, until finally the Doctor has to hold her in place with his hands, spreading her wide with his thumbs as he continues to lap at her.

Reinette comes as silently as she can, choking out small cries while her thighs tighten and tremble around his head. He licks more slowly now, with the flat of his tongue, using just enough pressure that she realises he simply wants to feel her gentle throb in his mouth, know that his actions have pleased her.

When she's done, Reinette taps his head through her skirt and tells him to get up. He emerges from below, his jacket and tie askew, his hair prickling in all directions, his cheeks and lips damp. "Was that all right?" he asks, the smug grin on his face telling her he knows exactly how well he did.

This impudence will never do. He ceded control to her earlier with little hesitation, and Reinette has no intention of handing it back to him, even if she suspects he's simply goading her into issuing new orders. She will have to put him in his place again.

She pushes the Doctor against the writing desk in the corner and runs her hand along the tight front of his trousers. "Open these," she says. "I want to see you."

He reaches for the button above the placket, and tilts forward at the same time, trying to kiss her. Reinette leans away and shoves him back to the desk. "I did not say you could move."

"But I want to –"

"No," she responds. "You'll do precisely what I ask. This is the French Court, and we have rules. I expect rules have little meaning for you, Doctor, but we will go no further without them."

No reply this time, just a stare full of longing and desire, and shifting feet as he deals with what Reinette can tell must be an increasingly uncomfortable erection. Reinette continues, "Still, I am not without compassion. There will be only one rule: you follow my every command. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly," he answers, and this time, she can tell from the pace of his breath and the hoarseness of his voice that he is hers once again.

"Now," she says, "I asked you to show yourself to me."

He unfastens the trousers, sighing with relief as he frees his cock. His eyes stay fixed on Reinette, intense, waiting for her next request.

She raises her right hand in front of his face. "Lick," she says, and he brings his head down to wash her palm with his tongue, applying himself to this task with diligence and care. He sucks her fingers one by one into his mouth, rolling his tongue over and over them, and Reinette begins to feel a quivering between her legs again.

She lowers her hand to wrap her moistened fingers around his cock, sliding them forward, and the Doctor groans. Back and forth she moves, tightening her grip towards the head. Ordinarily, she might do this with her mouth, but tonight, their time together limited and precious, she would rather talk.

She caresses the back of his neck and brings him down to brush his ear with her lips, whispering, "I saw so many images in your mind, Doctor." Gliding a thumb along the tip of his cock makes him shudder in the most satisfying way, she discovers. "You want this from Rose, do you not?"

He says nothing, only clenches his jaw and thrusts forward into her hand. His eyes are shut, and it is impossible for even Reinette to tell whether this is due to concentration or fantasy. She continues moving, slowly, methodically, and the Doctor grips the desk behind him more tightly, steadying himself.

Reinette says, "You want this from Rose, and I believe she would give it to you as willingly as I, but you will not take it." She breathes in his ear, making him shiver. "Should I be flattered or disappointed that you deem it acceptable to love me and not her? Tell me."

She draws back from him to see his expression. The bluntness of her question has caused him to open his eyes and stare at her; for just a moment, she sees the same fear she saw before they began, but it's quickly replaced by a startling coldness. Her hand stills.

"I can't. Not with Rose. She'd only end up broken."

"And me? Am I somehow less breakable?"

The Doctor's eyes are much sadder now. "No," he says. "You're all breakable. But you know we just have this, this one moment, and Rose ... Rose thinks she has forever."

His words pierce her more sharply than any knife. For nearly her entire life, Reinette has worked toward the day when she would capture the king's attentions and take her place at Versailles. And though she never expected she'd have more than a few brief encounters with her enigmatic Fireplace Man, it is still wounding to hear for certain that the two of them must tread different paths.

There's no time now to heal this injury. Better to take pleasure where she can.

Reinette lifts a hand to his lips, parting them with her index finger. "You may move now," she says softly.

The Doctor wastes no time, kissing her hard, messily, tangling one hand in her hair while the other slides up her side, tugging her closer. He releases her lips long enough to grumble something about corsetry she can't quite make out, then lets his tongue drift along her neck, her throat, her breasts. Reinette, for her part, continues to stroke him, relishing the way he drives himself into her curled fist, fast, jagged, a bit desperate.

She kisses him, stroking his tongue as she strokes his cock, until finally his breath quickens and his lips tighten over hers. His body stiffens; he moans softly into her mouth, and she feels him pulsing in her hand, leaving warm liquid on her wrist and skirt. Exhausted, he falls back against the desk, his eyes closed.

Eventually, he rouses himself enough to notice the state of Reinette's dress. "Oh," he says, sheepish. "Sorry."

"It is nothing," Reinette replies, wiping her wrist clean. "I am wearing another gown to the ball. And my servants are very discreet."

He smiles at her, embarrassed, tucks himself away and starts straightening his shirt and tie. "You know, I don't normally do this sort of thing," he says. "And I never know whether to send flowers or how long to wait to call afterwards, though the telephone hasn't been invented yet, so I suppose that's not an option, is it? Yet here I am, babbling like a right idiot again when the most beautiful woman in France has just ... ." He lets the sentence trail off, clearly unsure about how to complete it.

"The most beautiful woman in France – and I doubt I am that, though I will accept your compliment – has just shown you her favour before offering it to the king," Reinette says. "Which, to my mind, is as great a compliment as you have paid me."

"I disagree," he says quietly. "On the whole, I think it is far greater."

Reinette takes his hand, kisses his palm, presses it to her cheek. "Come," she says, steadying a quaver in her voice. "The ball begins shortly, and I believe we must both tidy ourselves."

She leads him out of the study, and walks arm in arm with him toward her chambers. So little time left with him, she thinks, the future nearly upon her now. So little time, but one chance gifted to them both, and she will not regret it.


End file.
